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A MESSAGE’
" est wind, that lightly stirs my hair,
Go, bear this message to my friend ;
T.ll her that ’tie my constant prayer
That angel hands her life defend.
If faithless friends her heart have wrung,
Ur sorrow’s pall her path o’er cast,
Tell hei to think whose love has clung
Around her faithful to the last.
Her sorrows he would gladly share,
Would lift from her each burdening grief,
And could he shield her, he would dare
Even death to fly to her relief.
Her image on his heart is traced
In lines that time may not impair,
Life’s record all may be effaced.
Yet still her memory lingers there,
And though he breast life's st jrmiesttide'
The treasure of her friendship pure
Shall shine like that one star that guides,
The sailor safely to the shore.
A LOST YEAR;
-OR—
A Young Girl’s Harvest.
CHAPTER L
THE BLOW AT THlt BRIDGE.
As we have been friends from boyhood, it is
my earnest request that you send my son E lgar
to Myrtle Yale,” wrote John Ballan to his friend,
Webster Clive. “I promise the young man the
heartiest of welcomes, and a happy time during
his slay with U6. My daughter, Olive—the
little babe you saw in my arms, seventeen years
ago—has just returned from school, and will
prove a delightful companion to your son.
Therefore, my dear Clive, we may both live to
rejoice that E Igar visited Myrtle Vale; so send
him by all means, and that without delay.”
While th > father perused the letter of which
the above is an abstract, the tones of a piano,
accompanied by a bewitching voice, came to bis
ears f‘oman adj lining room, and when Web
ster Clive fiaished its perusal, ho turned to his
son E Igar.
“How would you like a sojourn at a romantic
country spot for a few weeks? he asked the
young man.
“C ipitally, father, if I had a companion,
was the reply.
“My friend John Bellan has j ist written me
to s nd yon to his elegant country home, for a
short or long soj 'urn, as you may elect. “
•Is he the Mr. Bellan who was your comrade
at Heidelberg?’
‘The same. I am sure you will like him, and
as he hints of society that is certain to prove
agreeable, I know you will enjoy yourself at
Slyrtle Vala‘
E lga- Clive did not reply, but a cloud passed
oror hie face.
•You will go? 1 said his father, growing impa
tient.
‘If you wish it?‘ was the answer.
‘I most certainly do. To-morrow you will set
out upon the j mrney.*
‘Well, then, I go.‘
With the las: w ird quivering on his lips, the
youth passed from the room and left his father
alsne.
‘This letter has proved most opportune, ‘ said
Webster Clive, glancing at his friend's missive
which he still held in his hand. ‘It will effec
tually take his mind from the girl who is fpst
leading him into the toils, and bids fair to unite
the two houses. I was about to adopt the
straight jacket for his infatuation; but this let
ter suggfsis the milder cure of bright eyes and
a vomau's heart.*
E Igar Clive did not dream that knowledge of
his love had reached his fatner‘s ears. He bad
been rash enough—rash when one considers the
station occupied by himself in the world of
wealth—to fell in love with a young girl who
stood behind his fether‘s counter, and attended
to the ratv*-e of the customers' who £ /eked 10
the great palace of trade. He never stopped to
.'uestioa the result of his amour; did not think
that his father would shrink with horror from
hisallianc > with Nerah Line; but loved the fair
girl, neglected no s.cret opportunity to declare
his aff rction.
But there were those who broke the news to
the merchant. Letters left by unknown parties
on the desk, or seat to Webster Clive through
the city post office, opened his eyes to the enor
mity of his s in‘s love, Rnd he started at the
thought, and shivered. What! his child form a
life alliance with a girl on the pittance of a few
dollars per month—a girl who crept every night
to an attic, and sought a couch of straw? Tae
thought crept to the proud mar ‘a heart, and
chilled it to its very depths.
If the letter from Myrtle Yale had not oppor
tunely reached Webster Clive, it would have
been difficult to guess what oourae be would
have pursued in the m itter of E lgar‘s love. Ha
resolved at once to send the youth to Myrtle
Yale, and, in the bright eyes of O.ive Bellan,
he would forget Norah Line--forget the penni
less gi 1 who sold goods in his father's store.
E igar offered no opposition when he discov
ered that hie father had determined to send him
to the country home of the Bellan‘s, and, on the
day appointed, he left the city well burthened
With baggage.
A day’s journey brought him to his destina
tion, and he was accorded a real ovation by the
inmates of the Yale. John Bellan expressed
himself delighted to gre it the son of his old
friend, a id Olive, a beautiful young girl in her
eighteenth year, seconded her father’s delight,
with much apparent z st. She was fresh from
the boarding school, and the lmense permitted
there was seen in her manner, and heard in her
heedless conversation. ........
Edgar wrote home delighted with his first lm-
pres sions of Myrtle Vale, not omitting a rather
enthusiastic description of Olive’s charms, and
“ quirements. All this pleased Webster Clive;
he s w in it the alliance upon which he had set
his proud heart; and felt that this son would
soon cease to think of the counter slave
But he was to discover that E ‘ga still thought
jf ner.
Entering his 6tore earlier than usual one mor-
ling, he saw a young girl reading a letter. A
fiance told him that is was Is >ra L ine. Sue
seemed depply interested in the missive, as, m-
leed she was, , , .. .
U he oassed he glanced over her shoulder, and
law her gaze riveted upon the well known chi-
•ography of his son. With white face and fl *sh-
ng eyeshe passed to his private office, and ac-
losted the head account. .. . .
“Wuat do we owe Nora Line? he said almost
iereely. - .
The clerk examined the ledger and informed
he merchant that the firm stood six dollars in
he girl's debt. .,
“Pay and discharge her ! he said.
Twenty minutes later a cry ran through the
room. Nora Lane had fainted.
When she recovered, she found the merchant s
private office closed to her and wrapping her
shawl about her form, left the great place of ex-
ffiange, and breasted the storm that howled
through the thoroughfare. Discharged ! and for
what’ She did not know.
if Filoar at Myrtle Vale was informed of
x’ 11 i u. Ldrten change of condition he did not
U fn any of hie letters home, and his
“the?did not deem it necessary to inform him -,
The/outh appeared pleased with his visit, andj
the merchant resolved that he should stay away
until he had won the hand of Olive Bellan.
Edgar at last thought that he saw through his
parent’s designs, aid one night, as he entered
his chamber, he gave vent to his thoughts. He
said aloud that he hud not forgotten Nor »h Lane,
and his words ‘old that he knew of her discharge.
B :t he had not beard from her for two months,
and could not think what made her so silent.
F >r several months Olive had been playing
fast and loose with'him. Now he believed that
she loved him, and now again scarcely doubted
that she had a lover who met her clandestinely
on the es'ate.
Intent upon discovering the truth of this, he
left the house one night and glided toward the
rustic bridge that spanned the creek. There
upon several occasions after nightfall ho had
heard voices, one ot which sounded very like
O ive’s; the other was a man’s.
It was a night well suited for tli9 observations
which the youth wished to take, for dark clouds
scurried across the heavens, and rend red the
spy’s motions difficult to see. He felt that he
would witnesi a clandestine meeting, lor cer
tain thingR had told him that O ive intended to
leave the h use. Ha reached the foot bridge
and stood beneath the drooping williw that
touched it when the wind b -nt its limbs.
Forseve ;1 moments he stood there, seeing,
hearing nothing, when al at once he heard a cat
like step behind, and then a hiHsi.ig voice :
‘The third time, cowardly spy I’ said the un
seen. ‘There, take that!
E igar felt a sharp pang in his side, ai d with
a wild cry staggered back and fell heavily to the
earth.
Before he lost his consciousness he heard a
woman’s voice in a frightened tone.
‘Fly Charley ! for your lifj, fly ! Leave me
with him.’
’I—I watched over him. Charles
‘l’ou did? after telling me to put an end to his
spying.'
‘Oh! no! no! do not say that.*
‘I will say it, for it is the truth !‘
‘I wil! not remain here and listen to yon. •
‘Willnot?- and the haggard man laughed al
most demoniacal v. ‘I am the strongest, and I
vill make yen. You have got to listen t -> every
hingl want to say. Olive Bellan, you made me
believe that you loved me. I follow id you from
Lecompton and met yon twenty times on this
bridgr. I madly jealously, adored you, and be
lieved eviry word yon said. You told me that
yonj fa’her wApld not consent to our union,and
informed me tn$t we were Watched. Y u know
what followed y8(pr information, and the alvioe
w :ich you gav . "I struck the bio r, that made
me a fugitive from j istice and a man who saw
ais victim in his sleep, and heard his wild cry
al. through his waking hours! I struck him be
cause you s lid yon loved me. What do yon say
now? Did you lie then, Olive Bellan^ We-e
von playing the coquette and drawing me on?
Answer me!'
Tae man’s face assumed an expression fright
ful to behold, and Olive tried to shrink away,
but his grip held her fast,
‘Tell me, foolish girl! he cried. ‘Or, by my
sou', I will not let you go to-night.’
‘Unhand me, sir, or I will alarm our house
hold! she said, suddenly becoming bold.
‘Do so, and I wi'l accuse you before your
father, even though I h mg myself! was the
neartless answer.
‘Charlie Deale. I wil! answer you. I once
thought I loved you. Indeed, I did not know
my own heart. Will you let me go, now?’
‘Yes,’ he cried. ‘H.ive'l les a year loving
such a girl as yon, Olive Bella i? Have I steeped
my hands in crime, believing that I was win-
The Double Heart.
BY MARY E BRYAN.
(See Engraving on 1st page.)
The division was under march; the band was
playing ‘The G rl I L ft 'B ehind Me,’ women
were w iving good-byes from windows and bal
conies and the beys of the town w re shouting
hurrahs as the troops, with banners flying, de
filed through the streets. Y r et one soldier was
not in his place. Wallace B ant was still saying
good-bye to A’ico M ivfield, under the old beech
in he* father’s grounds, where the • had often
sat in ear'ier years, an 1 Wallace the blacksmith’s
handsome sou, had hel, e ’ li tie A!lie the proud
Judge’s only daughter, with the sums that puz
zled her pretty head. Hard y mo e than a child
vet was Alice. The war had broken in upon her
finishing at the fashl nable northern seminary,
and s' e had come back into the lines of Dixio
where her lather’s 1 mded interests comnelled
him to stay, tcough his hearfj as with the North
ern army, and th > old flag, and this moment,
from a window irom h s mansion, on the hill,
ue was shaking his clinched hand at the gaily-
streaming stars and ha s that preceded the little
band of marching Rebels.
What if he bad known that Alice, his darling,
whom he propos d some day to marry to the
irst in the land, wis at this moment pledging
her young hea-t to a private soldier in the R bel
aimy; but he did not know it; and Mrs. Marks
and her daughter, staunch friends of Alice,
stood watch at the gate, while he held her hand
close locked in his, and talked of his love, and
his plans for the f dure.
Wallace had bean cutting deep lines with his
knife into the smooth beech bark; and now Alice
saw that it was a doable heart that was taking
The twilight was too deep for her to discern
his features well, but she would know that voice;
;he would feel the magnetism of that presenoe
in the darkest midnight.
‘Alice, my darling, it is I; I was not killed; I
ive to love you, aud to make you mine in sDite
>f them. I heard what was to happen. I de
led all dangers and ea ue to you; came to carry
.mu away with me; thank G >d I am not too late,
come, dearest, my friends here are true to me.
there are fresh, fleet horses waiting for us.
Gome!
J here was no wedding at Mayfield mansion
hat night. The feast was there,—the wine and
he fl iwers and the lights. The guests were
here, an! the grand bridegroom in his glitter-
ng uniform, but ‘the bride herself was want-
■ng ; ,
uilo the soldiers on guard had relaxed their
vigilance to drain a canteen in honor of their
General’s wedding day, a daring R.-bel welf had
Rolen in and carried off the lamb meant for the
lacrifice.
Two days afterwards, in a C mfeaerate camp,
mrrouuded by the rugged, sympathetic feces of
be men ir gray, sweet A'ice, the truant bride,
stood up in truth to plight her vows; and an
iriny chaplain, who could fi-ht as well as pray,
laid the words that gave to Mij ir Wallace Brant
.he bride he so well deserved, aud who had so
oobly proved her devotion.
A id the legend carved on the old beech proved
prophetic, for the two hearts are still one, though
he children of A ice aud Wallace Brant now
play under the old tree, whose trunk yet bears
the to cn of the young soldier’s love for the
girl he left behind him.
Did you love the man who struck mo at the bridge ?” he asked when they had come to a halt.
‘So it is he?’ said the man. ‘Well, I am not
one whit sorry, O. ve Bellan.”
Then the strieke a man swooned from loss of
blood,and excruciating pain, and when he open
ed his eyes again, he found himself in the man
sion of Myrtle Yale, with a circle m' white and
».iir>us Vices over him.
Ha caugh sight of O.ive standing at the foot
of the bed, aud, when his gaz j met h its a shiv
er passed over her frame, and, with a guilty
countenance, s le crept from the room.
By-and-by the surgeon concluded his ex uni
nation, and gave the anxious ones few hopes of
Edward’s recovery.
“I did uot do it! ’ Olive cried when she reach
ed her own room. “If he lives, I will atoDe for
my share of the affair; but I shall keep the se
cret of tha, blow! Cnaries is safe with me;but
I may have to desert him for the man he struck
to-night. ”
CHAPTER II.
Five months after the dark blow at the bridge,
Elgar Clive still occupied his room in Myrtle
Yale. Daring a greater part of the time just
passed, his father had been constantly at his
bed-si ie, and it wa i with unfeignel pleasure
that he saw his boy changing for tae better, and
slowly returning to health. Waen Edgar had
so far recovered as to be able to ask questions
and receive replies, h ) made enquiries concern
ing his friends in the city, and his father an
swered with pleasure.
Tnere was a question which often struggled to
his lips, but he was afraid to put it. Waat had
become of Norah Lane? Hi felt that his father
knew, and would truthfully tell him; but he
could not nerve himself to ask about her, and
the opportunity at last passed away for the
merchant went back to the city.
Almost every day Odve came to the room, and
attended to his wants with growing devotion.
But he could not dare to meet her gaze squarely;
he remembered the words that succeeded the
cruel blow, and felt that she could have avert
ed it. Through much of his illness she had
watched at his bedside; hut she was still the
girl he had found her, though the events of the
past few months had effected a slight change.
Since E lgar's arrival Ooe year passed before
his return to the city was seriously canvassed.
He had promised his father that he would not
talk ot going homeuutii he found himself strong
enough to underta :e the j mrney. Tne rich
hues of autumn were again on sky and 1 af.and
the young man went out into the woods
again.
Oae year from that night which had burrowed
itself in rhe memory of the inmates of Myrtle
Vile, O.ive w.»s stopped by a voice on the fetal
Dridge, and, turning, she beheld a tall young
man whose face was white and haggard beyond
description.
Tne young girl was returning home from the
overseer's lodge, and, as the distance was short,
had not deemed an escort necessary.
Therefore, she started when she beheld the
wof'ul counteeance, aud might have fled, but a
hand was laid upon her arm.’
‘Charles Djale, what brings you back here?’
she cried,
•Y m, O.ive Bellan, and you know it!* was the
reply in desperate tones.
‘I did not send for you, ‘ she said: ‘I never
took yon to come back. You are endangering
your neck. ‘
He bit his white lips until they crimsoned,
and his eyes flashed like a madman's,
‘He isn‘t dead?" he said half qnestioningly.
and there was latent regret in his tone.
‘N o! ‘
‘Was he ill, long?*
‘He was very near the grave for months,’ an
swered Olive.
‘Ana what did you do?‘
ning your heart? God pity the wretch your
silly heart has made! Never will I love woman
again! Olive Bellan, may all your future 1 >vj8
ue blighted, and may the wrath * f the man you
have wrecked fullow^yon to t'y
' Lka released her with the last vTord, and she
fled like a person running for he> life, to the
mansion, while the white-faced man walked
slowly towards the village not far away.
E Igar O.ive decided at last to depart f:om
Myrtle Vale, and on the afternoon that was to
•vitness his leave-taking, he and Olive rode do ,vn
the by-road that led into the beautiful park at
tached to the estate.
Olive’s groom accompanied them, but at a re
spectful di-tance, and the twain w-?re enabled to
convjrse without the fear of being overh ard.
‘I want to know one thing btf ire I go away,’
Edgar said, watching the girl’s lace which was
quite near, for they had come to a halt.
‘Gladly will I give the information if I can,’
was the reply.
‘I may be asking too much. (Did you really
love the man who struck me at the br Jge? )
The ques.ion, wholly nnexpecied, starred the
bea lty, and her face flashed, thou quickly be
came pallid.
‘Pardon me, E Igar hastened to say, with a
sinister smile. ‘You need not reply. But I
wish to say that I oan never love the woman who
knows such secrets and tells tnem not. Olive,
vour folks have been very kind to me. You
have planted, it seems to me, a terrible harvest.
Charles Deale wrote ms a letter yesterday, in
•vhieh he told me all. He met yon at the bridge
night before last. I know you expected me to
make an avowal of love before I leave M, rtle
Vale hut I cannot love you. There is a knife
between ns, and I must leave you t > garner
your harvest alone, in pain and tears, though it
be.’
She heard him through like a prisoner receiv
ing his sentence, and then said only this:
‘G e! Let the person who sowed the wind as
a school-girl, reap the whirlwind the remainder
of her life.
They rode b-ck to the house together and
parted there.
E igar Clive returned to th9 city, and told his
father all. ‘And do you still love that girl—that
N rah L ;ne?’
•YeS.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I do not know.’
The merchant’s face brightened.
‘Father, I see you working throughout the
whole aff dr,’ cried the young man. ‘You sent
me to Myrtle Vale that I might'forget her; you
discharged her because she loved me; you ’
‘Enough! Hunt her out and marry her; but
never upbraid me if you rue your investment'’
Elgar did find Norah Line, and, finding her
still true, led her to the alter, and s lie made him
a wife who won the love of Webster Clive.
There w«s something in Charles D .ale’s curse,
for Olive Bellau never wedded; and over her
grave the wild birds sing as if she hal loved to
happiness, and not despair.
Mrs. M rton, of Memphis, los‘a diamond
cluster pin, valued at $700 The pin was ad
vertised in tae Avalanche and found by Mr. It
O Smith, who received $50 reward. In this
instance advertising paid Mrs. Morton $050.
The L9gisla‘ure of New York, recently con
vened, will chocs a successor to Senator Conk
lin, on the 21st of J .nuary. It is reasonably
certain Mr. Conklin will be his own success
or.
A delegation of the principal chiefs and busi
ness men of the Cherokees, Creeks and Chicka-
saws, waited upon the President on the 9 h, aa d
entered their protes s against the transfer of
t ie Indians to the War Department
shape under his keen blade; and presentlv he
said to her:
‘Uader this tree you kissed me Alice when I
tound vour pet squirrel and brought him b ink
>a, _»v>u w'jrti a ifuie” m*itc oT a girl 'then; and
under this tree you first tuld mo you loved me;
md here \vj have met ofien and often. So the
old tree is sacred to our love, aud I will mark it
so. Here I have cutour hearts, linked together,
dearest. It will remain there while the tree
iives. L ok at it, beloved, and think of me
when I am far from you; look at it and remem
ber that you have promised to be tr ie to me -
come what may—as I shall be true to you while
a heart beats in my body.’
‘I wil.,’ the girl answered, through the tears
that were silontl falling as she watched the
cutting of the double heart.
F liutar sounded the shouting withont; fa'nter
the music of the band playing ‘The Girl 1 Left
Behind Me.’
‘I must go,’ sighed the young soldier; aDd
thrusting back into his belt the knife that had
j i»t completed the rude carving, he clasped his
girlish sweetheart to his breast, and the fere-
well was murmur6i amid tears and prayerful in
vocations.
Three years later. Mayfield mansion is being
brilliantly lighted up, for to-night Alice, the
Judge's lovnly daughter, marries Gen. Wa son —
the Federal Commandant of the post. The
town is no longer in Confederate lines. Six
months pr vio is i: was taken by N jrther i troops
greatly t> the jov ot Judge Mayfield, whose
home was at once thrown open to the Federal
Oflijers. Soon it was known that the General
was Miss Mayfield's ardent lover and that his
suit wa backed by the sirong will and pursua-
sive powers of her father.
Aiiee held out against them long and stoutly
but news came that Wallace was dead, an she
felt that life had no further promise for her,and
listless aud hopeless, yielded a passive acq li-
escenoe to her father's will.
But it was a sad heart, hidden nnder that foam
of costly la e as she sat in h r bridal dress and
looked at the little black gutter percha ring
upon her finger—the ring her lover had earved
from a button of his coat, as he crouched in a
rifle pit with t ae storm of shot and shell going
on above and around him, and had sent it in
the last letter she had ever had from lrrn. She
had worn it always, hidden lately under the
heavy gem-oet band that was the General s troth
pladgta.
She must put it off now ! This cherished
token of the brave, handsome, true lad who had
won her girlish heart,‘and pressed the first love
kiss upon her lips, She must put away his
poor little pathetic token, she who was soon to
wear the ring that bound her to a proud enemy,
of the cau .e her brave boy fought, and died for,
a starred and stately General, but oh ! how un
like her own tender aad gallant boy.
So thickly the memorits gathered about her
that they a’most stifled her. She shrank from
the eyes of those about her.
‘I am not well ; I am nervous, she said, “I
am ready too early by an hour, I will walk in
the garden and compose myselj, I need the iresh
air and the quiet.’
G »essing tha‘ her thoughts were with her
lead lover, they let her have her will, and loop
ing up her silken train and enveloping her
whole figure in a soft dark wrap, she left the
uouse. Straight she went across the garden, the
orchard, to the strip of woods and the old try-
sting spot—the beech tree that bore the legend
)f the double heart. Throwi ng her arms around
it and pressing her cheek to the mossy trunk
she moane I out her lover's name again and again
in accents of despairing tenderness.
‘Alice.’
Who was it called her’ Who was it that knelt
at her side? What arms were these around her?
Iteiiii of Interest.
Mr. Ma .in H.rv.sa citiz m of Folk county
| vas ac.id ,'utai.y burned to death on the evening
of the 10 a.
Ac or ling to the lust census, there in Aus
tria lt>3 men aid 2Jo womeu of 1JJ years aud
ever.
Colonel D H. Strother, ofV.rgiuii, better
mown as ‘t’ore C ayoa,’ has been off ered the
j consul-general ihip of Mexico.
A'.abami cle..rs some thirty thousand do'.l trs
j a year working out herconv.c.s. Oi the last
| lay of D cjui nr there ware bat eighty-five in
i ihe peniteatia y.
Ben Butier C ilebrated the anniversary of the
; Ustile of N ;w U.leans by counting over his sil-
| ver spoons.
i A steamboat has been placed on Orange Lake,
j Fla. Tne lake is twenty miies long and five
! wide.
! Fl >rida experienced throughout its length,
; aud breadth, so we bear, two distinct shocks
; of an earthq i die, on the 13 .ii inst.
! Es-Seaator Henderson, of M ssoiri. will
! more ibau likely be made minister te Germany,
( in roam of C .yard Taylor, deceased.
; Prince B smarck’s Parliamentary Funish-
i mens bill is sud to meet with more opposition
i in other c >untries than in G irmany iiself.
! There is a question of the constitutionality of
j the bill.
About twelve o'clock on Sunday night t ie 12 h
j inst. a shock of an earthq lake was distinctly
J felt throughout the city ot D .rien and on the
| Ridge.
While the harbors of Baltimore, Philadel
phia, an i evsu N if Y irk, hive been much im-
pededj|B to navigation by ice. that ot Bis on
haa rem lined entirely free from such trouble.
Capt. Bo,'ardus recently acoomplishel the
U’ip irallele l feat, at Gilmore’s Girden, Niw
York, of breaking with a rid j 6.000 balls with
out a mis .
A naval court-martial, of which Commodore
C. H. B rid win is President, has been appointed
for trial of Cimmandsr D W C. Kells, on
charges preferred against that offi ier.
It is op*/Identic expected that G >v. Hamp
ton will attend the next c jlebration of Washing
ton’s birt hday in Caarleston, and take part in
r,he proceedings on the occasion. He will go
as the guest of the famous Washington Light In
fantry.
Madame Andersen concluded her task of
walking 2 700 q larter miles in as many quarter
hours. Cousiilerable money is said to have
changed hands on the result. She commenced
the last quarter mile at 10: 15 aud made it in
2: 371.
Mrs. Cobb has been sentence 1 to impris la
ment for life at Wethersfi.dd Prism for the
murder of her husband. Iu a card to the pub
lic Mrs. C >bb says the verdic: was mistaken
one and solemnly asseverates her innocence.
Texas ranks third among the wool-producing
States, having 3 671 OuO sheep, and so trea ling
closely on the heels ot O lio. C Uifornia leads,
of course. N uicas C maty, Tex., has more
sheep in its limits than a ay other county in the
U jion.
Gainesville, Fiorida, a few days ago, had a
beautiful pond thirty-five feet deep, and cover
ing twelv > acres of ground—but it is gone. It
went out of sight in a single night —sunk, van
ished, disappeared, leaving only its bed be
hind it. It is stated that the roa Is in the neigh
borhood have a way of stepping out after a
similar fashion.
Augusta will soon put in a bid for the State
Fair. It wants to share iu the benefits winch
it allegts Macon and Atlanta derive from tke
expositions of the State.
Benjamin Hunter was hanged at Camden,
New Jersey, on the lb;h of J muary, for the
murder ot Armstrong, a former partner in bu
siness, in January, 1678,
The great bridge, in O aio, over the Cuyahoga
river and flats has been recently completed. It
was commenced in 1861, and is said to have
cost $2,250,000.
At the meeting of the Tennessee historical so
cle y, in Nashville, Tues lay, it was resolved to
arrange for an appropriate celebration of the
battle of K ng’s mountain. A committee was
appointed to memorialize the legislature to aid
the society in advancing the objects for which
it was orgauiz id.
Some of those liberty-loving Russian stu- ’
dents, who insisted on the right of petition, are
to be banished to Siberia for their imprudence
in thinking they had rights the authorities
should respect.
Colonel J /rdan says cotton can be made to
pay at the present prioe of meat and clothing
even at eight cents per pound. He will be sat
isfied to net that amount the present year.
We learn that the R v. H. F- Hoyt who has
been the worthy pastor of the First Presbyte
rian Chureb, of Darien, for the past year, has
sent in his resignation to take effect the firs, of
June next.
The daughters of Sir E iward Tuoruton, the
English minister, made their first appearauce
iu Washington society last week, bat as hey
were wearing cour. mourning for the Frincoss
Alice, their dresses were of black illusion over
black silk, and their only ornaments strings of
pearls around their necks and red roses.
Niagara river below the Falls is spanned by a
bridge of ice one mile long and sixty feet wide.
The riv jr has been spanned in this way before,
but seldom if ever so early as now. This unex
pected appearance of the bridge it acc muted
for by the vast quantities of snow and ice which
passed into the river from Lake Erie after the
late heavy s.orm.